


An Afternoon at B

by Ttime42



Series: Help from my Friends AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Description Heavy, Description Practice, Introspection, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Naked John, Naked Sherlock, One Shot, Riding Crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ttime42/pseuds/Ttime42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot of a typical day at 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon at B

**Author's Note:**

> This can take place anywhere in the established timeline. There's not much plot here, fair warning. I haven't been all that inspired to write lately so I wrote this descriptive piece to hopefully jump start something! Enjoy :)

221B on a quiet afternoon carried all the usual noises of a residence in the heart of London. Cars and buses roared down Baker Street. The hot water pipes running behind the papered walls and beneath the wooden floors creaked and sighed. The jubilant muffled voice of a show host and a laughing audience forced itself through the wall behind the frumpy leather sofa. The refrigerator motor hummed on and off, keeping Sherlock's collection of tongues cold. Now and then the bell above the door at Speedy's chimed bright and voices rose in a crescendo and faded just as quickly as the door closed with a _thump._

Two laptops were open the dark wood desk, the screensavers shifting and twisting with glowing rainbows of color. A mess of papers were scattered along one side of the desk and pens were tossed haphazardly over the surface. A cold mug of tea was beside John's laptop. Another, nearly empty mug of who-knows-how-old coffee rested on the mantle beside the antique knife jammed in the post. Detritus items, a dog shaped marble paper weight, a box of matches, a sudokube, no less than three china teapots, a plastic storage container with Sherlock's name on it, and the violin case littered the floor behind the green chair. The fireplace was dark with oily soot and grey ash and a pile of neatly sliced pieces of pine sat beside the metal grate. The metal fruit bowl was empty on the coffee table and a pile of women's magazine's and medical journals nearly obscured the dented wooden table surface. One of the green glass pocket kitchen doors was half opened. Used lunch dishes were piled in the sink and the room smelled vaguely of coriander and cumin. The yeasty scent of baked naan hung in the air like the motes of dust caught in the rays of the setting sun. The curry aroma blended oddly with the scent of cooking sugar and cloves filling the hall downstairs by Mrs. Hudson's flat. Billy the skull kept watch over all the silent chaos.

The _hiss_ and _snap!_ of a riding crop slicing the air and striking flesh startled the quiet domesticity. Sherlock cried out from the bedroom. John's voice followed, pitched low in a soothing timbre. The bed creaked. John's bare feet padded on the floorboards. Another _snap!_ Another yelp. _Snap! Snap!_

"Sh…" John rubbed the back of Sherlock's sweat-dampened head. "Relax, love. I won't give you another until you relax." John stroked his dark curls, absently twining the soft strands around his fingers. He stood beside the bed, naked, leaned over his submissive. His cock was stiff and dark, brought to attention by the deliciously lascivious sight in front of him. The dark whip of the crop was clenched in his left fist. Sherlock was stretched out on their white duvet, naked and on his belly. His legs were spread, his ankles cuffed and chained to each end of the footboard. He hugged John's fluffy pillow, now wrinkled and damp with tears. His bum and thighs were slashed with pink splotches and faint red welts. His whole body was flushed and the air itself was ripe and heavy with musky arousal.

At first sight it looked abusive and cruel and to an outsider, bizarre and disturbing. A closer look revealed the truth. John's eyes were warm and concerned. Sherlock, though tear stained and whimpering, had an erection that rivaled his dominant's. He was smiling into the pillow as John touched and scratched his scalp. The restraints on Sherlock's ankles were wide leather bands lined with thick, fuzzy fleece. Bottles of cooling cream waited on the side table for after.

Sherlock took a deep, shuddering breath and sank deeper into the cotton.

"Good." John murmured. He moved his hand off Sherlock's head and squeezed his scruff. He raised the crop. Sherlock stuffed his face into the pillow and hunched his shoulders‒ _Snap!_ The crop landed across his left thigh.

"Ah!" Sherlock's voice broke and he hugged the pillow tighter.

"Beautiful, love…" John stroked his hair again. "Enough?"

He shook his head. "A, a little longer."

"Okay."

_Snap! Snap!_

Sherlock buried his face in the pillow and whined as the stinging heat burned patches on his skin. He tried to lift his legs and the five inch chains binding him to the footboard clinked on the wood before pulling taut. The cropping stopped. Again John's hand on his hair. He sighed into the cotton and closed his eyes, enjoying the firm fingers on his neck, rubbing and soothing. His brain felt like a fish swimming happily through the warm clear waters of subspace.

_Snap! Snap!_

Sherlock shuddered and bounced one foot on the bed. "No more." He muttered.

"Alright." John set the crop on the side table and crouched on the floor so they were eye level. Most of Sherlock's face was obscured in the pillow, but one glassy silvery eye met John's own. He reached and smoothed the curls stuck to his sub's forehead off his face. The corner of Sherlock's eye crinkled in a smile and John's mouth quirked. "Cream?" He asked.

"Yes."

John stood and grabbed the tube of aloe based lotion. He got on the bed and straddled him, knees on either side of his sub's waist as he knelt-sat on his back. He smoothed cool lotion into his round bum cheeks and smiled, enjoying the feel of Sherlock's smooth pink skin under his hands. Sherlock let out a content sigh. John's weight was warm on his back and it was comforting in a way to be pinned like this. Held down. He reached and wrapped his hands around John's calves.

"Feel better?"

"Yes." Sherlock sighed. He tickled his dom's toes.

"Hey!" John startled. "Stop!" He swatted at his sub's hands and laughed. Sherlock smiled and hugged his pillow again, going limp and humming as the cream cooled his sore skin.

John capped the tube and put it aside, then got off his sub's body. He wrapped himself in a green striped terry dressing gown and put the crop back where it belonged on the dresser. It didn't fit in his box, and anyway, it was Sherlock's crop. John felt it should be separate. He unchained his ankles, letting the restraints dangle. He grabbed Sherlock's red gown and threw it over his sub like a blanket. Sherlock stirred, looking up at him.

"Alright?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock lifted an arm in invitation and John crawled into the bed and cuddled into his sub's chest. Sherlock pulled him close, wrapping his arms around John's back and sliding his knee between his legs.

Outside a bus roared by and the big plastic bins in the alley clanged as someone threw rubbish away. Sherlock snuggled closer to John and they tuned it all out, safe in each other's arms in the sanctuary of home.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


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